Something About Us
by milgrom
Summary: Gemma Shepard & Kaidan Alenko have been friends for a long time. Through thick & thin, two tours, the Reapers, Ilos and Horizon. Now they stand at the end with so much unsaid between them.
1. Chapter 1

"Hey," he says. He rolls his neck, unsure of what he was just doing. Sure enough, datapad in hand, it must've been something tedious. It's hard to think of anything important when she's around. Three, Four years of watching, smiling tight-lipped, lying with eyes and gestures. How many chances do I have left, he wonders. _Not many_, he answers himself.

"So," she breathes out. No joke this time. No quip or witty tongue darting between white teeth. "How are you holding up?" She asks. He would laugh, but the irony cannot be lost on her too. And they are still dancing on delicate edge. The strings holding them together fraying.

"I always wanted to see London." He grins but he knows it's half-hearted. "Holding up though, best as can be expected." Air is trapped in his lungs at the sight of her. He lets out a breath and with it, any anxiety or fears along still roiling.

_Only moments, he reminds himself, so few left. Don't waste it. Don't let her go before –_

"Gemma," he takes her hand, so easily. Just. Like. That. He felt stupid for never doing it before. Another of his hands comes up, just behind her left ear, hitting the switch to turn off her visual display. If he's going to finally tell her, he'll do it plain as day.

"I know this isn't exactly the right time, but," Those dark water blues, summer night skies trapped in wide-set eyes. His heart hammers in his chest, faster with every second. He moves closer to her, cutting off the warring crescendo all around them. That wretched gunfire staccato beat has no place in this moment.

"If I don't tell you, I'll regret it. And I'm not dying with regret." He has both her hands with his now. Even through the molded, shielded gloves he can feel her. Those inches, like miles, closing in with each breath. "Gemma Shepard," he smiles now and calm comes with it. "I've loved you from the moment I saw you. All we've been through, every second – the good, the bad, the hard times too – I've loved you. And today," he sighs with a hard won breath that she hasn't pulled back or moved her face a single inch. "We might die, but if we're called upstairs I'm not going without you knowing."

The regret washes away now, the words have grown winds, flown off on the wind. Her eyes blink once, twice, three times the pretty lush thickness barely kissing her high cheekbones. She hasn't looked away and her fingers are threaded with his. One beat of his heart and two, lost in those deep, swirling watery eyes. He remembered Ilos, the last time he was - No. That was a lifetime ago. That was a different man, a different woman. When she came back, two years, two months after - No.

He had to stop dwelling. He had to. There was so little time left and wasting it on the should have, the could have or would have is folly.

"Gemma, you've got the prettiest eyes. You're my best friend, the love of my life. I'm sorry I never told you the truth. I'm sorry I never said anything. I look back now and I see all the chances I might have had. But I," he stalls on the plump lower lip working a quiver between her teeth. But he doesn't look for that exit this time. "I don't know. I love you and I love what we have. I'm not asking you for anything. I can't – I don't have the right to do that with what we're going to do. And we'll do it. A hundred percent, I'm with you. To the end. We're going to give the Reapers hell, show them what it really means."


	2. Chapter 2

She tastes like dust and lemon sweet. The contours of her lips are pressed against his. One heartbeat, a second, a third before the sensation finds his mind. Kaidan's hands scramble for her face, pulling it in now, restless, urgent and needful. Kaidan Alenko, master of the last minute, champion procrastinator and those three, four years spent watching, wondering, never asking, never demanding, because –

Fingers catch in her hair, it's grown out, just over the tips of her ears. It's winter in London, the air reeking of snow if you're looking for it through the ash and death so pervading. Lemon. Road dust. Her lips are chapped around the edges. He can feel the worry mark behind her lower lip with his tongue. He doesn't dare open his eyes. Not while there is no sound but their heady breath. Not while he has her, finally, _God_ _just one more second –_

But breathing is only natural. And she has the prettiest eyes he has ever seen. "Gemma," he sighs out her name, breathing in again that scent of lemon, sensory memory of the seconds that he could have lingered contentedly in. "I," he cleared his throat. "Well. Yeah, we should have done this much sooner."

He pulled her to him this time, marveling in how well she fit against his waist. The long lines she made cast an impressive shadow, but she was still small in comparison, still a perfect match, frame for frame. He kissed her again, slower this time but with no less need. He draws two fingers down the left side of her face, memorizing contour and shape, the other wraps around armored shoulders, bringing her close enough to soak in her skin.

His tongue sought hers, further in, closer and closer still. Hands found her waist and brought her off the ground. Of course, wild as she was, read his mind and wrapped long legs about his waist. They fell backwards with a clack of teeth and howl of laughter. He held her still, unwilling to let her go so soon. When he told her the truth it was liberating. It was unplanned, so unlike anything he had ever done before. He had never been so bold. He was the man with a plan. All illuminated 'A' through 'Z'. He knew every exit, every way out. He knew, too well, how easy it was to get pulled under the waves.

He kissed her again. Lemon, dust and the ash clouds that had rolled through after the many, many bombings. And that did it. That shocked him back to the present. Of what awaited them, of what they had to do. He was loathe to move, nestled amid the boxes as they were. All around them lay stray munitions, bits of wire and tools that he was sure could stab them up something fierce.

Reality, like hindsight, kicked like a bitch. His fingers found her face again, seeking out the warmth of the sun he knew he would find there. The sun set over deep ocean eyes, the sun paint splashed with pinks, red and golden hues. The little scars in her skin, he traced them too and wondered if he would ever know their stories.

Kaidan, the man of inaction, the man of a thousand dotted I's and crossed T's was faltering. Kaidan Alenko, the man who never made demands for he alone was lot in those swirling, churning blues, lost in the feel of her pressed against him. He heeded not the stares milling about and avoiding their precarious position; he didn't care for the whispers that surrounded them. Had he earned this? Maybe. Maybe he could have had this years ago. But it would not be the same. It wouldn't have held the meaning, the sharp clarity, it would not have felt as right.

"Gemma," their heads touched, their shared air was dizzying. "Gemma, I can't lose you again." He speaks in the smallest of whispers, one selfish word tumbling after another. He knows what lies before them, the dead man's path they're going to take. He knows that there's a good chance that neither of them are coming out of this alive. His heart hammered. His breath was ragged in their small, shared headspace. "I'm fighting for this," he says, poking a finger into her chest plate. "I'm going to fight to have this again. But I just … We have to win. We have to do this. We have to bring the fight to them, harder, faster, better than before. And we will. Because you'll take us there. But you have to take us home too. _You_ have to come home too."


	3. Chapter 3

"_Go, go, go – !_" Gunfire, shouts, her ahead with heavy boots pounding fierce along the pocked landscape. The beam was so bright, this wretched thing that sang erratically down his spine. But he ran. He kept pace. He rolled, jumped and ignored the marines who fell along the way. He_ had_ to. This was it. The last push.

The five-story Reaper beast with three yellow eyes spoke but Kaidan blocked it out. He was running too hard, he couldn't lose his feet now – an explosion to his left rolled him, but he came up, still sprinting. All he had to do was keep his sights on her, just a yard or two ahead. The sun was almost fully set, a peek of it just behind the beam, red & gold, illuminating distant fires and projecting their fierce burn into the heavens. Her shadow stretched far ahead, five stories for five, larger than life she is and always will be.

Time slowed then, Garrus was coming towards him. It was wrong, though. The angles were off. His arm was twisted left and above him, his legs up over his head. It was too late that Kaidan realized that the turian had been blown backward. A hulking four hundred pounds of dense, unconscious turian hit him square in the chest. That precious balance and speed were lost instantly.

He heard the Reaper's red weapon before he saw it. Not a moment too soon, the next thing headed toward them came in the shape of an old friend. A MAKO, equivalent to a gray boulder stuffed with explosives sailed in slow motion. Kaidan would have laughed, but instead every muscle in his body was at work to lift the slightly stirring turian off his chest.

Those broken three seconds before the MAKO crashed beside them stretched and screeched like grinding gears. Kaidan removed himself from under Garrus and pulled them both out of the way. He heaved a choked breath of ashen air and slapped the turian across the unscarred side of his face.

"We have to keep going," Kaidan thought he yelled. His ears rang in place of the familiar sound of his voice. His breathing, heavy as it was, was plain as day and the reverberating scratch of the Reapers all around. "Get up, get up!" He formed the words, he knew at least. Garrus moved, a stuttering of unsure limbs and shake of his head.

A hand came on his back and he turned, fingers fumbling for a sidearm that was inexplicably gone. But it was just her, blood dripping wildly red across irritated cheeks. Concern was clear in her eyes. He made the move to stand fully, but his knees gave out. He wheezed and felt the warm flow against his side. A hand went up, pieces of his glove embedded in his palm. It came back red, so red against gray, gray earth. Turian arms came with realization and he shook, snapped his head to meet her eyes again.

She spoke on the comm, her mouth forming the words 'E-VAC' and 'Now'.

More gunfire broke the static in his head, the ground underfoot shaking violently. Blood pounded under his skin and it came to him quick that he was missing pieces of his armor. Most had blown apart, but the thick Kevlar under-armor saved his body from most of the damage. His skin still felt on fire, fever rushing beneath and out of his body.

"No, Shepard – Gemma, don't leave me behind." He wasn't sure if he spoke, but it caught her attention. She was at his side, setting him down, leaning him against the rubble shield that stood between them and the war closing in. He shuddered a breath, pain flashing along nerve endings now.

She didn't say anything, the words forming visible lumps that stuck in her pretty neck. His vision was splitting into threes and fours. Her face swam with Garrus' mug. He dared to shut his eyes a moment then, allowing only one second more of the blinding pain to take him. His mind sped rapid fire – shrapnel explosion, hard earth and steel had washed over him when Garrus slammed into him. He was bleeding in several places, the worst across his abdomen. It was not difficult to breathe, but it came ragged and wet, not quite normal. Most of the damage he would survive. But he wasn't going any further today.

"Kaidan," she was saying as he opened his eyes again. He smiled, trying to convey the calm he felt to her tightened mouth and worried brow. "Kaidan, I'm getting you both out of here. Stay with me, okay?" Her voice was music. He wanted to go, he didn't want to leave her now, not when they were so close. Sweat dripped down her nose, the glow of her skin was stark, apparent in the tepid twilight.

"No, Gemma, I can do this. We're so close." He knew it was as futile. "_Don't –_" his body didn't follow the will of his mind and he coughed, sputtering burnt red phlegm with it.

And it hardly mattered, the familiar engine sound was overhead, the Normandy was closing in amid the carnage. It was too late, he knew it. Red streaked overhead, brush purple and pink amid it, the burning shadows and caterwaul chatter over the comm systems magnified to blazing heights. Kaidan was lifted, between Shepard and Garrus, moving on limp feet toward an open shuttle bay door.

Then she was out and away from him. The warmth, the sun itself was leaving now, Kaidan made a sound that wasn't fully formed. Garrus held him back as she made one shuffle of her feet away from his side.

"Wait! Shepard, please, don't go. _Don't go_." He shook down to his center, her figure in his vision shared with blackened, frayed edges. He was losing out, he was losing her. He knew it, just as well as he knew he had to fight until he could no longer. For her, for Earth, the universe all of it, if only to make her stay.


	4. Chapter 4

_A flashback, oh my!_

* * *

He caught her in the mess hall, thick short brunette waves about her ears, posture-perfect straight shoulders and a slim hand curled around her hip. She's waiting for the coffee to finish brewing and she's humming – nothing in particular, just small noises to fill the empty space and silence 4AM Sol time can bring.

He can hardly keep track of it out in space, but since he can remember, she's never missed a beat of Earth time. Born and raised in the heart of New York City, it was as though her heart beat with the land, the people, the hustle and bustle of the cities she wished for. She knew the hour, minute and second that passed in Sol, kept it like a flush to her chest.

Not him. He could never get used to it. Two days in and he was lost. It usually took a full month of waking up with vertigo and a killer migraine to set his internal clock back into place.

"Morning," he says, taking a spot by the long counter and running a hand through his hair.

"Morning, Major." Ever so chipper, her eyes still rimmed with the last vestiges of sleep, she has a cheery edge to her voice. "What are you doing up so early?" She clicks off the coffee machine and grabs a pair of mugs, long spidery fingers with dry skin cracks around the knuckles move in liquid, practiced motion to fill up to the brim.

"Can't sleep," he admits, yawn coming through, reminding him it's only been two hours since he shut his eyes the first time. "What about you?" He rolls his neck unconsciously, accepting the offered cup and marking the curious grin playing about her lips.

"I never sleep." He knew she would say that and he echoes her speech. She pushes his arm and takes a gulp of the fresh, dark roast brew. "_Ha-ha, Alenko._" She saunters to the table, settling into the seat with an immediate groan of relief for her tired legs so accustomed to staying stock still in a fox hole. "So," she sighs and hawk eyes the shade of the deep Atlantic waters that follow him as he joins her. "What's on your mind that you can't sleep?"

She deflects and though they are both aware how instinctive a habit it is, he shakes his head and leans elbows on the table. His own hands settle comfortably around his hot mug, taking the chill out of his bones. He hums thoughtfully, Ash, Jenkins, all their friends lost on his mind. Those days seemed like a millennium past, but he still remembers. The war weighing on them all had his mind racing and all those old faces from way back when started to surface once again.

"Just thinking about old times." He takes a sip of his mug and tries to picture Ash's sly grin, Jenkins' wide-eyed curiosity, but he couldn't – that was 4AM at it again, the trickiest mistress of them all.

"Oh?" She speaks simply, thin trimmed eyebrow arching in interest. He commits the sight to memory. They're on a one-way trip now. They both knew the score, having shaped it to her very will. He could think of a thousand more metaphors, but it all seemed so pointless now.

"Doesn't matter." He's not ready to open that book. Not yet. Even two, nearly three years down the memory is still a raw one, the scar still itches and the bones still ache. "But there is something I wanted to talk to you about." 4AM, sly mistress that she was, made the rough topics comes to light, even if they were set for the night shift.

"All right," ever the easy, mild-mannered listener. She was too good a woman, he thought then, though she would never believe it about herself. "Lay it on me, Alenko." Her voice purred as she took another sip of frothy coffee.

"Did I do the right thing? With Udina, I mean. He was a rat bastard but ..." It was split-second. The man had pushed the asari ambassador down, waved a gun in her face, his pinched features angry, feral. Kaidan shot him clean, double-tap to the chest. But before that, staring down the barrel right to Gemma's cold fire glare. Those eyes held no fondness then, only confidence that she held all the right answers.

"You did the right thing, Kaidan." Her hand shot across the table and came to rest on his. An intimacy he dared not to name dangled delicately between them. "He sold the Council to Cerberus." She didn't pull back and her hand, so warm on his, held a steady heartbeat he felt mingle with his own. It was too much – so much unsaid, so much time gone idle between heart & mind. He folded his hands around his mug again, changing one warmth for another that was cheap in comparison.

"Yeah, I know. But was it right? Sometimes, the small details really matter. The how, the why, the steps between a game of chess and gunfire, to staring your commanding officer – your best friend down the barrel of a gun." He spat virulent poetry though he didn't mean to. He will never live down seeing her in gunmetal light.

And she had forgiven him, true, but he had not yet forgiven himself. How could he love her if he nearly killed her? It dredged up a mess he thought long buried – Horizon, the venom he laid on her after she had been so happy to see him. Mars when he harbored doubts over her connection to Cerberus. The words she chose when she visited him in the ICU, he picked them apart, searched for double-meanings he knew weren't there. That moment when she came for him instead of Ash.

The night before Ilos. That one moment where they both had let go. The moment they both buried for the different, wounded people they had become.

"Kaidan –" she says with a sigh. It's not a stubborn or annoyed sound, instead one to breathe out the weighed and measured topics they shared like heavy iron links cast about their shoulders. Each one a moment that defined them, each one a life given for another, each a mark of duty borne & bred down to the bones.

"Was it honorable? Was it because I'm duty-bound? Or did I just dislike the man. Have I – have we come to the point where gunning a man down is the only option? The Reapers can't be handled that way, it's clear, but the rest … We have to maintain that, we have to have options. Because the Reapers don't and we can't become like them." He met her eyes then, bravely, because he felt it, because speaking these nagging thoughts aloud felt good. It felt right. His voice was no more than a whisper, but it resounded artfully off the bulkheads.

And she smiled. That gorgeous sight she often withheld. Those crooked teeth that cut just above a fat lower lip. Those lips that pulled and stretched and simultaneously softened her soldier scarred face. She sipped her coffee and set it down, folded her long fingers carefully together.

"It was the right thing." She repeated. "It's the hard thing. It's the constant uphill battle. It's the questions with muddy answers. It's the difference between action, inaction and indifference. We don't have an easy fight, but we'll do it. Because we're better. Because we take the high road, because we still believe humanity and the galaxy are worth saving. Udina didn't believe that. He didn't think we would make it. Neither does the Illusive Man. Both of them lost their faith, their honor, their belief in choice." She swallows, takes a breath, all the while still flashing him a calm, collected grin. "They think life can be bought and sold, that the Reapers will take their price and honor it with tenfold destruction. But we know better. So we fight. So we make tough calls. Tough, but _right_."

God he loved to hear her talk. The sound of her voice, the truth of her thoughts. She didn't hide behind a wall of stoic military silence. She wasn't like most officers, hell she wasn't like anyone he had ever met before. And somehow, she still surprised him, every single day.

"Yeah." It wasn't eloquent, but it was all he could say as he raised his mug in salute.


	5. Chapter 5

Seven days were gone in a muddy routine of sleep, eat, and medicate. Over and over – fourteen servings of dry rations, seven cycles of eight or nine hours full of vivid night terrors. Seven lukewarm showers. Seven days, made of hours that passed dully, with droll faces exhausted, devoid of anymore caring.

On the seventh morning Traynor exclaimed she had gotten EDI back online. The seventh morning the AI woke from death and got the Normandy space worthy again. Relief was palpable. Communication systems flared to life and brought news that whatever had been unleashed from the Crucible had decimated the Reaper fleet. They were gone. Well and truly, utterly defeated. Shepard had done the impossible. She was a hero once again.

On the seventh afternoon they left Zorya's atmosphere. The FTL system was in nominal condition, thanks to the brilliant engineering crew and Tali'Zorah. The Normandy was on her final mission, however, a fact they all knew. They had to bring her home, find her and bring her out of the cold.

Kaidan held hope she wasn't dead. He held it fiercely, perhaps irrationally. Someone would have found her, right? The Citadel had fallen into Earth's atmosphere. Landed square in the middle of the United Kingdom. They had coordinates and they were going there, to find her. _Alive._ Kaidan refused to believe she was gone and would _not_ unless he saw it for himself.

This was the subject of his nightmares. Dr. Chakwas had practically forced sleep aids down his throat along with enough morphine to knock down a Clydesdale. Even so, the nightmares came. Stark colors, blood brighter than any Summer sun. Her broken body was so small in his arms. Static without sound he screamed and screamed and screamed her name. Shaking the heavens with his need, his desire that burned reverently through each and every night.

In the middle of the seventh night, Earth's stars were above him and his booted feet stepped on solid ground. Corpse fires lit the night, huddled masses with lined, mystified faces crowded the ship and wondered if they brought food. Kaidan walked by, unable to process their need above his own. Tali and Liara stayed behind, their hearts far stronger than his own. His beat with hers; his loved only when hers thrummed hale & whole.

A small beacon played over his omni-tool. A steady _beep, beep, beep_ the only way to find her. The suit she had been wearing contained a tracking device. They all had them. Made spotting that much easier when the team was separated by terrain. It gave no clue to whether she was still alive, but it showed where she was – two clicks south of his current position. By maps and three-dimensional readouts he knew she was by a river, a wide and sweeping thing cut between two forests.

One step, followed by another and two hours later he was there. The rushing waters were tinged black by cinder and smelled like smoke, corruption. Pieces of the Citadel had rained down for miles, but here, he recognized signposts and burnt edges that were of the upper echelons of the Presidium. The beep was steadier and he followed the map on his omni-tool. She was close now, near a pile of rubble underneath a scorched tree.

He started digging. Pieces of metal he lifted and hefted aside. He felt the presence of others, turian claws and swarthy human hands lending their strength to his. Kaidan didn't speak, neither did they, and the work went quickly. It was dreamlike, surreal as he pulled each broken piece away. His fears didn't subside, though neither did his rash hope. She was there, waiting for them to find her, to save her like she had saved them.

"There," Garrus' voice was a whisper as he pointed to the uncovered hand.

Speed came to them next and they pulled double strength and effort to free her. Her left arm was largely intact, but the rest – a broken heap under the rubble. Broken, but breathing. The sight of her chest moving up & down, however shallow, brought a wild grin to Kaidan's face. It pulled at muscles that atrophied over seven aching days. He was first to kneel at her side, the first to run a scan. Her neck wasn't broken, but her legs and arms were, a number of ribs and a puncture to the top of her right lung were serious. The blackened remnants of her suit had sustained her through the descent from atmosphere to Earth, but she was fading. Precious minutes remained.

Kaidan heard but distant the sound of Cortez calling for help over the comms. He barely registered the sound of heavy wheels coming to a quick stop at their position. His fingers were caught in her hair, his voice a mess of pleading for her to k_eep on breathing, keep on living. Just a few moments more_, he said again & again._ Just a little bit longer_, he whispered into her ear. _Help is coming_, he told her.


End file.
